"Otto!"
Everyone present changed expressions as they watched Otto fall to the ground, groaning in pain.
Leonor's face darkened slightly, his gaze shifting between Otto and Doris, his anger visibly rising.
As a fellow member of the Privy Council, how could he stand by and watch a colleague be humiliated?
Doris had already prepared her explanation and spoke up: "This man attempted to flee across the Narrow Sea by boat. I apprehended him just as the Tower of the Hand was set ablaze."
That was mostly true.
However, it wasn't entirely of his own volition—he had been acting under someone's orders.
Rhaegar looked down at Otto's miserable state, a barely perceptible frown forming on his face.
He had been waiting for him for a long time.
"Hiss—ahhh—"
Otto gasped sharply, using all his strength to prop himself up, revealing a face as pale as a corpse.
Rhaegar slightly turned his head, noticing Otto's left leg, caked with dried blood.
Otto also lifted his head, his dull, lifeless eyes staring at the high and mighty crown prince, a chill running through his heart.
No one could imagine the torment he had suffered at the hands of the Dornish over the past two weeks.
Doris grabbed Otto by the collar and said grimly, "There was an accident during the arrest. A stray arrow struck his leg, and we didn't have time to treat it."
After speaking, she put on an expression of feigned regret.
Leonor was furious, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles cracked. He wanted nothing more than to smash this Dornish mongrel's head in.
If he hadn't already suspected Otto of wrongdoing, he would have taken this as a blatant act of provocation.
Daemon crossed his arms and chuckled. "A crippled leg shouldn't be much of an issue for a bloodsucking leech."
After all, those things crawl to survive.
"Prince Daemon, you are as sharp-tongued as ever."
Otto forced a bitter smile, reaching out to adjust his numb left leg as Doris dragged him upright.
Daemon smirked mockingly, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.
Seeing Otto suffer made him happy.
Men's pleasures were often simple.
Rhaegar's lips twitched slightly, thinking to himself how his dear uncle never even tried to hide his true feelings. Maintaining a calm demeanor, he asked, "Ser Doris, do you have concrete evidence?"
"Of course, my prince."
Doris remained composed, as if she had rehearsed this moment a hundred times. She pulled a letter from her cloak and said, "This is correspondence between this man and the Prince of Pentos."
Otto's expression stiffened, and his breathing became heavier.
Without even sparing him a glance, Doris continued, "I also captured several sailors and assassins who can testify."
The room erupted in whispers.
Her words were delivered with absolute confidence, leaving no room for doubt.
Leonor's eyes widened—he hadn't expected Otto to be involved in such "grand schemes."
The others in the hall, including Linman, were equally shocked, their gazes filled with complex emotions as they looked at Otto.
The queen had only just been imprisoned, yet rather than trying to help his daughter, Otto had instead set fire to the Tower of the Hand and attempted to flee?
Clap, clap, clap.
Rhaegar clapped his hands, his gaze locking onto Otto as he feigned curiosity. "Lord Otto, I have just one question. Were you the one who set fire to the Tower of the Hand?"
"Cough, cough..."
Otto coughed violently, gritting his teeth. "Prince, what difference does it make now?"
Of course, he had set the fire, but not to the extent that it would kill his brother, Monde.
Someone must have interfered.
Rhaegar continued, "As a member of the Privy Council, instead of serving the realm, why were you attempting to flee to Pentos?"
"My brother instructed me to visit the Prince of Pentos to strengthen our family's trade relations with the Iron Throne," Otto replied weakly, attempting to fabricate an excuse.
Rhaegar shook his head. "That explanation doesn't hold up. Ser Doris has provided substantial evidence proving that you not only conspired against your brother but also attempted to escape with stolen wealth."
Otto's lips trembled. He had no way to refute the accusations.
The truth was that he had set the fire, and it had been Monde who told him to flee to Pentos to lay low.
Rhaegar then declared, "Otto Hightower, you are guilty as charged."
Otto gave him a long, deep look before closing his eyes in unwilling acceptance.
I'm innocent!
"I know you are," Rhaegar thought to himself.
But so what?
A smirk played at the corner of Rhaegar's lips as he said, "Ser Doris, thank you for returning Otto Hightower to us."
Doris bowed slightly. "It is my honor to serve the Iron Throne."
For a brief moment, their eyes met, and both caught a glimpse of satisfaction in each other's gaze.
Rhaegar turned to Leonor. "Otto has committed grave offenses. Have him imprisoned in the Red Keep's dungeons while he awaits trial."
"Yes, my prince," Leonor replied, though he still seemed puzzled. Nonetheless, he followed orders.
The guards stationed at the door entered the hall and dragged Otto away.
Otto tilted his head back, staring blankly at the ceiling, his pale face devoid of emotion. He had no will to resist.
Nor the strength to.
The council session continued for a while longer before concluding on a seemingly harmonious note.
As Rhaegar stepped down from the Iron Throne, he glanced at Elric in passing, subtly signaling him to follow.
Elric immediately understood and trailed after him as they left the throne room.
Once they reached a secluded corner, Rhaegar asked, "Where are Laenor and her two daughters?"
Elric thought for a moment before answering, "The princess asked Laenor to accompany her. Lady Baenira and Lady Rhaena are studying with Prince Daeron."
Rhaegar's eyes darkened slightly, and he instructed, "Keep a close watch on Lord Corlys' movements. Make sure nothing happens before or after the banquet."
Elric hesitated for a moment, as if trying to grasp the deeper meaning behind the command.
Rhaegar simply blinked at him.
"...Understood. I'll take care of it immediately," Elric replied.
Erik had an epiphany and called for a squad of guards before leaving.
A heated argument was unfolding between the two heads of House Velaryon.
Corlys was furious, shouting, "Look at what you've done! The peace negotiations went through smoothly, and now we're at a disadvantage."
"Corlys, have you let your anger cloud your judgment?"
Rhaenys met his gaze head-on, her tone calm and rational. "The realm deserves peace. War is not the only way to resolve conflicts."
Corlys' head throbbed as he retorted, "But war is precisely what cost us so much—only for us to finally gain the upper hand."
House Velaryon had sacrificed too much.
Laenor had been murdered, two of his nephews had fallen in battle, and more than half of their fleet had been lost.
Now, without an heir, even the very foundation of Driftmark was at risk.
He understood the difficulties the Iron Throne faced, but who would resolve his predicament?
At his words, Rhaenys' eyes welled with tears. She closed them, sinking into silence.
The mere mention of Laenor was like a dagger to her heart.
He was the son she had carried for ten months in her womb.
Who could possibly understand a mother's anguish over the persecution of her child?
Seeing his wife's tearful expression, Corlys felt a surge of sorrow and slowly regained his composure.
The two sat across from each other at the table, neither speaking.
After a long silence…
Rhaenys wiped the corners of her eyes, steeling herself. "Daemon's last-minute betrayal means only one thing—Rhaegar must have promised him something."
"No doubt about it. Those two only act when there's something in it for them."
Corlys seethed at the mention of Daemon.
Back when they seized Tyrosh, they had agreed to work together—to coordinate with Pentos and Volantis and divide the disputed lands with the Iron Throne.
But Daemon, in his impatience, had disrupted the plan.
He seized Tyrosh for himself, expelled all forces loyal to the Iron Throne, and claimed the land as his own.
Because of this, Pentos and Volantis had gradually distanced themselves, slipping away from the Iron Throne's alliance.
And House Velaryon? They had received nothing—not a single piece of land across the Narrow Sea.
"Forget all that. Everyone's just looking out for themselves."
Rhaenys waved a hand dismissively, but she had caught onto something crucial. Her voice turned sharp.
"If Rhaegar is willing to overlook the past and recruit Daemon, doesn't that mean he fears House Velaryon as well? He'll have to offer you something to keep you on his side."
House Velaryon had contributed too much to the war.
There was no reason for Rhaegar to only bring Daemon into the fold while suppressing the true war heroes.
Realizing this, Corlys' eyes narrowed. "This banquet is a negotiation."
"Exactly."
Rhaenys nodded. "Instead of brooding over our losses, we should think about what we can gain."
Corlys let out a cold snort. "No matter what they offer, it won't bring Laenor back."
If he could, he would give up everything just to undo his son's death.
He was trapped in a dilemma.
After some thought, Corlys rose to his feet. "I'm going to talk to Daemon. He'll have something to say to me."
Alone, he wouldn't be able to secure enough leverage—he needed to join forces with another key player.
Rhaenys remained seated, unbothered. She took a sip of wine and remarked, "You're welcome to try… if you can even leave before the banquet."
"What do you mean?"
Corlys frowned and strode to the door, cracking it open.
Outside, in the dimly lit corridor, Erik stood with a squad of guards, stationed firmly at their post.
Sensing Corlys' gaze, Erik respectfully inclined his head. "The Red Keep has visitors. We have been ordered to ensure the safety of Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys."
Corlys' expression darkened. He swung the door shut.
Rhaenys smirked. "Rhaegar won't give you the chance to conspire with Daemon. His priority is maintaining peace, not settling personal disputes."
Corlys' face turned even grimmer.
---
### Nightfall – Red Keep
The castle was ablaze with torchlight. Servants bustled about, preparing for what was to be the grandest royal banquet in years.
The Banquet Hall
Two long tables had been joined together, with people gathered around them.
Aegon clutched a wine bottle, chatting loudly with Aemond on one side of the table, boasting about his grand feat of burning Sunspear.
"You've had enough to drink," Aemond muttered with irritation, subtly pulling out his dagger to show it off.
Nearby, Helaena leaned half her body onto the table, giggling without a care in the world.
Across from her, young Jaehaerys mimicked her movements, his wide violet eyes gleaming as he babbled nonsense in protest.
On the other side of the table…
Rhaenyra sat watching Daeron and Baela wrestle.
Daeron was clearly losing.
Meanwhile, Daemon and Laenor's widow, Rhaenys' niece Laena, stood across the table, keeping an eye on the children while discussing the reconstruction of Tyrosh.
"First, I want to build a princely residence—modeled after the Perfumed Garden of Lys."
"You don't have nearly enough coin for that…"
At the center of the table—the heart of the banquet—Rhaenys sat, leaving an empty seat between herself and Rhaenyra, who was cradling young Baelor.
Every so often, aunt and niece stole glances at each other before quickly looking away.
One, an uncrowned queen. The other, a former heir to the Iron Throne.
Two women who had once been within arm's reach of ruling.
Now, when forced into the same room, an unspoken awkwardness lingered between them.
Beside Rhaenys, Corlys sat with a stormy expression, his gaze locked on Helaena as she played with her nephew.
The tension of war had momentarily lifted, allowing casual conversation to flow among the guests.
Servants moved through the hall, setting dish after dish on the table.
Aegon grumbled between gulps of wine. "When the hell is this feast starting? Drinking alone isn't enough."
Aemond opened his mouth, ready to fire back, but Corlys spoke first.
"Haven't you noticed? The most important guest hasn't arrived yet. Be patient."
"Tch." Aegon rolled his eyes and looked away.
A Velaryon old hag. Does he think the Red Keep is his home?
Just then—
Creak.
The grand doors swung open, the sound drawing everyone's attention.
Rhaegar stepped in, his silver-gold hair cascading over his shoulders. He was clad in somber black, his expression unreadable.
He bowed slightly, supporting another man with both hands.
Corlys' expression subtly shifted as he pushed back his chair and stood.
"Everyone, welcome to this family banquet."
Viserys moved slowly, leaning on his eldest son for support. His face was pale, but his lips curled into a warm, genuine smile.
At long last, the family was whole again.
(End of Chapter)